by Megan Sparks
As she changed out of her sweaty gear and into her normal clothes, Annie came to a decision. I’m not going to fall for any of those mind games again, she vowed silently. Come Saturday, Dee Stroyer’s going to be the one who gets destroyed!
As far as Annie was concerned, Emily Brontë was proof that some of the greatest things in life came from England.
Her English teacher, Ms. Schwartz, was dropping tattered paperback copies of Wuthering Heights onto the first desk in each row.
“Take one and pass the others back,” she directed.
Annie, who was seated directly behind Tyler, waited while he accepted the three dog-eared books from the boy in front of him, kept one for himself, then turned over his shoulder to give Annie the remaining two.
When he did, Annie’s breath caught in her throat. The soccer captain’s eyes were so incredibly green. She wondered how Ms. Brontë might describe that color: The dark green of moss on the Yorkshire Moors.
Tyler smiled as he handed over the books. “Hope this is better than A Tale of Two Cities,” he said, referring to the last book the class had read.
Annie gulped and tried to return the smile. As she took the books, his fingers brushed hers. The contact was unintentional, she knew, but still she had to suppress the urge to let out a dreamy sigh. When he turned away, she sat staring at the back of his head for so long that the boy behind her had to tap her shoulder to remind her to pass him a book.
“Open your books to page fifty-eight,” said Ms. Schwartz, striding up and down the rows of desks, her batik-print skirt billowing as she went. “‘He shall never know I love him: and that, not because he’s handsome, but because he’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made out of, his and mine are the same,’” the bohemian teacher read aloud dramatically. She sighed, clutched the book to her chest, and said, “Wuthering Heights remains one of the greatest love stories ever told.”
Wow. Emily Brontë. You go, girl!
Annie gazed at the handsome soccer player sitting in front of her. Brontë’s words, about Catherine’s love for Heathcliff, perfectly echoed Annie’s own unrequited feelings for Tyler.
“Kelsey?” The teacher called on the captain of the cheerleading squad, whose hand was raised high in the air.
“Um, Ms. Schwartz,” said Kelsey in a faux-sweet tone. “I was just wondering if anyone has a tissue that Annie could use?” She nodded pointedly toward the back of Tyler’s broad shoulders with a nasty grin. “She’s drooling.”
Fortunately, only the people seated immediately around Annie made the connection. But their giggles caused Annie’s cheeks to flush so ferociously she thought her face might go up in flames. She desperately wished she could disappear into the pages of Brontë’s masterpiece, even if that meant she’d be stranded in the middle of a Yorkshire moor.
When Ms. Schwartz told them they could spend the rest of the class reading silently, Annie lowered her head and kept her eyes firmly on her book for the rest of the lesson, even when the PA speaker erupted in a loud crackle of static.
“May I have your attention please!” the school secretary’s voice burst into the room. “I have an important reminder from the social committee. Tickets for the annual Halloween dance will go on sale today. Costumes of an appropriate nature will be required in order to gain admittance to the dance.”
The announcement was followed by the bell. Kelsey was up from her seat like a shot; her cheer minions, Ginger and Lulu, in their matching miniskirts and flawless makeup, flew right to her side.
“I’ve got the most awesome idea for a costume!” said Ginger.
For that, Kelsey must have given her a death look, because Annie heard Ginger quickly add, “But I’m sure it won’t be anywhere near as awesome as yours, Kelsey. Nobody’s will be.”
Seriously? Annie almost felt sorry for the girl. She may have been “popular,” but she was sorely lacking in self-respect.
When Kelsey and her followers had gone, Annie finally lifted her gaze from the book.
And there were those beautiful green eyes, looking right into hers.
“So, Annie,” Tyler said, “can I ask you a question?”
She managed to gather up her things and walk to the door without fainting.
So far, so good.
When they stepped out into the crowded hallway together, Tyler had to raise his voice to be heard above the din. “I know you haven’t been here long, but you know about Halloween, right? I mean, they have that in England, don’t they?”
Annie couldn’t speak, because another of Brontë’s lines was thundering in her head:
“I have to remind myself to breathe — almost to remind my heart to beat!”
She answered Tyler’s question with a nod.
“Okay, cool,” he said. “’Cause there’s this Halloween dance.”
Annie’s heart slammed into her ribs like a blocker slamming into a jammer. “Sounds lovely,” she squeaked.
Tyler laughed. “Well, I don’t know about lovely. But the social committee goes all out decorating the gym and everybody wears these tricked-out costumes and there’s a DJ.”
Annie just smiled. She was already picturing herself in a long Victorian dress as Catherine, slow-dancing with Tyler, who’d be the wild and passionate Heathcliff.
Ask me, she thought. Ask me to be your date.
“Anyway, I was thinking it would be cool to go as David Beckham.”
Tyler reached into his locker and rummaged around for a pen. “And I was wondering if maybe you might. . .”
Annie held her breath . . . go with you . . .
“. . . have an authentic England soccer shirt I could borrow?”
So that’s what this was all about? A costume? Annie felt even stupider than she had when Dee Stroyer had knocked her out of bounds in yesterday’s scrimmage. Tyler didn’t want to take her to the dance. He just wanted a Halloween costume.
“Sure,” she heard herself say. “I think my dad has an old England strip somewhere. I’m sure he’d be okay with you borrowing it.”
“Great! When will you be home so can I pick it up?”
“Hard to say. I’m kind of busy with —”
When she stopped short, he gave her a quizzical look.
It was on the tip of her tongue to say “roller derby practice.”
But she didn’t.
“. . . with school work and things,” she finished feebly. “But I’ll try to dig it out.”
“Thanks,” said Tyler.
In the next second he’d been swept away in the sea of students, rushing to class, leaving Annie standing there at his locker, feeling like a complete fake.
She loved everything about roller derby, from the skating, to the excitement of competing, to the amazing friends she was making, but she hadn’t wanted to admit to Tyler Erickson that she was a roller girl.
Because deep down, she suspected he wouldn’t be impressed.
Worse, he might even think she was some kind of freaky fishnet-wearing loser.
And the fact that she cared about that even a little was the worst feeling of all.
Lexie was already banging open her locker when Annie arrived. She immediately noticed Annie’s glum expression.
“Let me guess,” Lexie teased, “you got a D on your algebra homework?”
“I’m fine,” Annie lied. “But I was wondering . . . are you going to this Halloween dance?”
Lexie let out a little snort of laughter. “Moi? At a school dance? Have you met me?” To make her point, she gave a little twirl to show off her African-print dress — a nod to her half-African ancestry. Her curly hair was hidden beneath an intricately wrapped scarf, and her gold hoop earrings were large enough for circus poodles to jump through. “I’m not exactly a candidate for prom queen.”
Annie had been afraid of that. Lexie was artsy and a
bit of a rebel. Annie should have known mainstream clichés like school dances wouldn’t appeal to her. But still . . .
“I know they’re silly,” Annie said. “But just this once, it might be fun. They seem like a big deal in all the American teen movies I’ve seen.”
“Clearly you haven’t seen Carrie. Now there’s a school dance you’d probably want to skip!” Lexie gave her an understanding smile, hoisting the strap of her enormous art portfolio onto her shoulder. “Look, I get it. But trust me, real school dances generally don’t measure up to the ones on the big screen. We had dances in middle school all the time. Naturally, I was a conscientious objector, but my mom insisted I go to a few. The girls were lined up on one side of the gym, pretending their training bras weren’t stuffed with tissues, and the boys were lined up on the other, hoping their voices wouldn’t crack when they asked a girl to dance. I actually saw one kid pop a zit right into the punch bowl.”
“Yuuccckkk.”
Lexie nodded. “Now you’re getting it. And consider this: the music. Pop tunes, more pop tunes, and nothing but pop tunes.”
Annie sighed. “But that was middle school. Won’t a high school dance be better?”
“Maybe,” Lexie said. “I mean, for one thing, the boobs’ll be real. Well, most of them, anyway. And I don’t completely hate the idea of everyone going in costume. I mean, maybe for once, I wouldn’t be the one sporting the most outrageous look in the room.”
“See? There’s that.” Annie opened her own locker and pulled out her algebra book. “Promise me you’ll consider going?” she said in a hopeful tone.
“I promise.”
They made plans to meet for lunch in the cafeteria and Lexie headed down the hall toward the art room with Aaron, a friend from her class with dyed black hair and a nose ring.
As Annie closed her locker, she sent up a silent prayer that her best friend would agree to go to the dance with her.
Because one thing was for certain: Tyler wasn’t about to ask her.
Annie entered the rink on Saturday evening to the sound of The Clash rocking the place. That meant Jesse was operating the sound system, and this made her smile. Jesse shared her taste in music and it was nice to have someone to talk “punk” with.
She found him fiddling with the speakers. “Hey, you.”
He looked up from the wiring and grinned. “Well, if it isn’t our very own British Invasion.”
Annie laughed. “Oh, so that’s how you think of me, then? As an invader?”
For a second, Jesse’s expression was unreadable, but then he laughed, too. “Nah. We’re lucky to have you on American soil. The Liberty Belles especially.”
“Hmm.” Annie rolled her eyes. “After my face plant during Thursday’s scrimmage, I’m not so sure.”
“It happens,” Jesse assured her. “You’re a great player. Don’t let that stuff get you down. It’s all just part of the game.”
A cheerful voice boomed across the rink. “Annie, c’mere!”
Annie turned to see Sharmila waving her toward the lockers, holding a little container of glitter gel.
“Time to get your war paint on,” said Jesse.
Annie shook her head thoughtfully. “Funny, I’ve worn more makeup since I became a roller girl than I’ve worn in my whole life put together.”
“Well, you don’t need makeup anyway,” Jesse said matter-of-factly. “You’re more than pretty enough without it.”
The compliment seemed to surprise him as much as it did Annie. His cheeks turned pink and he quickly shifted his gaze back to the speakers, clearing his throat. “But, ya know, everyone can benefit from a little glitter now and then.”
Annie bit back a smile. She’d taken only three steps toward the lockers when Jesse said, “Annie?”
She stopped and turned around to face him again. “Yes?”
“I, uh, I downloaded a special playlist, with you in mind. I’m gonna play it during warm-ups, to help get you psyched.”
“I’ll definitely listen for it. Thanks, Jesse.”
“No problem.”
Annie hurried toward the lockers to get ready.
“Do these blue fishnets clash with my pink shorts?” asked Holly.
“Anybody have an extra pair of false eyelashes I can borrow?” called Liz.
“Take mine. I’m just going with some purple mascara tonight!” replied Carmen.
Annie watched as Lauren ducked to avoid the tube of eyelash adhesive that sailed over her head; Carmen had thrown it to Liz, who caught it easily.
“Thanks, Carm.”
“No prob. Just don’t get that glue in your eyes. It stings like crazy!”
Annie couldn’t help giggling as she allowed Sharmila to powder her eyelids with the sparkling eyeshadow. Back when she was an elite gymnast, Annie had spent plenty of time getting ready in the locker room. Gymnasts did wear a fair amount of blush and lip gloss and even glitter hairspray for meets. But roller derby makeup was an entirely different art form — more like war paint. Part glam, part monster movie, it featured heavily lined eyes and scary embellishments.
“This looks incredible on you,” Sharmila announced, sitting back to admire her handiwork. “It really brings out your eyes.”
“Thanks,” said Annie, blinking at her reflection. She actually did look glamorous — in a truly terrifying sort of way! In addition to the orange glitter eyeshadow, Sharmila had heavily outlined Annie’s eyes with swampy green liner and applied a thick coat of mascara. Then she’d added a series of black thunderbolts along her jawline and a long, purple “scar” across her forehead. She also wrote Annie’s player number — 5’11½” — on her arm in bold black numbers. Annie had chosen the number as a reference to her height, which in roller derby (unlike in gymnastics), was turning out to be an advantage.
Sharmila had gone a little off the rails with her own makeup. Rather than playing up her stunning features with eyeliner and lipstick, she’d created a virtual mask with black and white face paint. She looked like a weird hybrid of skeleton and supermodel.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go a little sexier with your outfit?” Sharmila asked, eyeing Annie’s black tights and snug red miniskirt.
“Sexier than a skirt made of less fabric than a handkerchief?” Annie looked down at her long legs emerging from the tiny Lycra skirt and laughed. “I’m good, thanks.”
“Why settle for good when you could look great?” Holly snapped. She adjusted her torn T-shirt to better reveal the impressive cleavage created by her turquoise bra. “If you’ve got it, flaunt it, Princess.” To illustrate her point, she did a sultry hip circle, showing off her shiny satin shorts.
Annie had to admit, Holly would attract a lot of attention in that outfit.
Maybe as the season progressed, Annie would vamp up her own look a bit, but for now she was content with the skirt and team T-shirt with her derby name printed across the back.
Annie made her way across the locker room to where Lauren was using a sticky hair gel to spike up her short brown hair.
“What do you think?” Lauren asked, gingerly patting at the points with her palm. “Do I look like a burnt lemon meringue pie?”
“More like a porcupine with highlights,” Annie said, giggling.
“I can live with that,” Lauren said, grinning. Then she struck an exaggerated body-builder pose, flexing her biceps. “So what do you think of these?”
Annie’s eyes widened when she realized what Lauren was showing her: a dragon tattoo on her left arm, and a skull and crossbones tattoo on her right. “Lauren, you didn’t!”
Lauren laughed. “Of course I didn’t. My mom would never let me get inked. These are just the temporary kind.”
Annie let out a sigh of relief, leaning in for a closer look. “They look so real.”
Then Coach Ritter appeared in the doorway to
tell them it was time.
Annie could hear Jesse’s musical tribute to her blaring through the locker room door. It was The Clash’s “London’s Burning.”
“Let’s hear it, Belles!” Liz commanded, pumping her fist in the air.
The girls exploded into whoops and hollers. As they rolled out of the locker room, they deepened their voices to a more menacing octave and chanted, “Belles, Belles, Belles!”
Annie’s heart was racing; she remembered the crowds of fans who had cheered so exuberantly for the Illinoisies when she and Lexie had gone to see the local adult roller derby team play. She couldn’t wait to feel the rink vibrate with the same thunderous applause.
As she and her teammates skated around the track, Annie scanned the crowd. Dad had been recruited by Coach Ritter to be the penalty box timekeeper.
The rest of the fans clapped and cheered.
All six of them.
A middle-aged couple (probably someone’s parents), a couple of boys wearing baseball jackets from a private high school across town, a boy with black hair wearing a leather jacket . . . and one girl in a skull and crossbones-patterned headscarf wearing huge hoop earrings. Lexie!
Annie’s heart swelled with gratitude for her friend’s loyalty. On closer inspection, the boy in the leather jacket was Lexie’s friend Aaron. But happy as she was to see them, Annie wished there were more people there to cheer them on. She thought of the masses of die-hard fans who attended football matches back in the UK, sporting team colors and painted faces. Sometimes those fans got a bit rowdy, but all things considered, Annie would have much preferred a little spirited mischief to the empty rink.
Maybe it doesn’t fill up until just before the bout starts, she thought. She glanced into the stands, where Lexie was cheering louder than the other five spectators put together.
Maybe there’s traffic?
A long line at the snack bar?
But from the looks on the other girls’ faces, Annie realized that they were disappointed by tonight’s turnout too.
Annie’s heart sank.